Somewhere, Matamoros
by ThisColony
Summary: Beth wanted change, of course. Maybe even a little adventure. But how she ever ended up headed toward the Mexico border with this jackass was beyond all logic. [AU - No zombies]
1. Chapter 1

_Red car, black car, white truck, white truck, white truck_.

The passing scenery on the state highway left a lot to be desired. The darkening shapes of trees and fence lines had begun to obscure as the light faded and the rain picked up, blanketing the landscape until it created a thick, ominous border that narrowed the highway into a sort of bleak tunnel. Beth wondered at the repetitiveness—how each town they passed mimicked the next, vehicles, houses, strip malls, livestock; each cow seemed to be the last cow and also the future cow.

She thought this probably had everything to do with why she was sitting on the bus right now. The repetitiveness and predictability of her days and of her actions had only recently started to set in with a slow anxiety. She had become listless, and the steady decrease in her usually driven, ambitious nature had honestly scared her. There was a feeling of change, or at least the want for change, but Beth had no idea how to handle it or what it really meant for her at the end of the day. If pressed to describe it, she could only say _conflicted._ Beth Greene simply felt _conflicted._

She wondered if her sister, Maggie, had ever felt similar, and supposed she probably had, though more than likely about and under different circumstances. Maggie was a lot more confident in her decisions, had always been the first to speak up and the last to get a word in, even when it came to their daddy. She missed her sister, wished she could find a way to tell her about all the things she felt without sounding silly or childish. That was the trouble with being the youngest—her siblings had likely already been there, done that, and even with the best intentions were mostly incapable of hiding the sort of horrible pity that accompanies recalling a shit time in one's life, but a time already filed away and squarely marked as _manageable_ and _over_; a time that can't _quite _be remembered with the same clarity, the same acute pain, as the one experiencing it now.

She sighed against the window as the bus jostled over a few potholes, then veered toward the right. The air brakes groaned as they rolled to a stop in front of a somewhat dilapidated Chevron. Beth stared through the rain streaked window at a grey metal awning that sloped down on one side, just inches from the concrete. She could just make out a dull yellow light shining through the dirty glass of the storefront, a bit obscured from her vantage point.

Jimmy stirred in the seat next to her, a soft noise bubbling from sleep as he rubbed the back of his hand against one eye.

"Where are we?" he mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Gas station."

He leaned into her side and slumped back down until his head rested on her shoulder. "I'm so hungry."

She smiled down at the top of his head. "Suppose I could go for some snacks."

Jimmy finally opened his eyes, smiling, until he focused on the run down store just over Beth's shoulder. "Jesus. Where the hell are we? Looks straight out of a horror movie."

"Couple hundred miles or so from Matamoros, I think. God, I can't wait to get off this bus."

He stretched out, yawning. "We're just gonna have to get on another one."

"Still...that's one step closer," she grinned, nudging his shoulder. "C'mon, lemme out. I'll get you something to eat."

Outside, Beth stepped under the cover of the awning and stretched her arms in the air, bent in half, and touched her toes. She unfolded herself and jumped in place for a few seconds, staring out into the surrounding woods, thinking, "This was probably a bad idea."

She wanted to be positive about the experience, and had begun to make an effort, for Jimmy's sake, to seem relaxed and happy, maybe even compliant to some degree. They had left Atlanta nearly twenty hours ago, the first five of which they spent arguing about the likelihood of her daddy, Hershel, disowning her after this little stunt, and Jimmy's waning tolerance for her neverending concern over the good opinion of a parent who refused to treat her like an adult.

She figured he had her daddy pegged all wrong—he treated her like an adult, albeit a particularly fragile one. All it boiled down to was the fact that he didn't want her to be _stupid_. Beth didn't want to be stupid, either, and all this contrived rebellion—leaving unannounced, on a bus with her boyfriend and a good chunk of her college savings in her pocket, headed toward Mexico like it existed only as one, big, looming party; one, big sun-soaked, alcohol-fueled dream—was starting to make her feel like that was _exactly _what she was being. But if she was very honest with herself, she had to admit that the thought of doing something _wrong_ for once gave her a little shiver and thrill whenever she managed to tamp down the guilt. But thoughts like that weren't exactly second-nature to her, and even _thinking_ such a thing gave her an inkling of doubt about her own perceived level of maturity.

She held the door open as an older couple ambled from the bus toward the store, pausing just outside the threshold for a moment before nodding their thanks and determining it safe enough to enter. She didn't blame them for being apprehensive; the whole town, as far as she could tell, looked like the remnants of a bombing. A bombing, she thought, that nobody had bothered to rectify, but instead scurried back from and into the shells of buildings and leaning, rusted structures, content to adapt rather than restore. This was the kind of place for passing through, and abruptly, at that. She glanced back toward her seat's window and grinned at Jimmy's sleeping face pressed against the glass, fog expanding around his nose in an amorphous pattern. The sight of him seemed sweet and calming. "Alright, Beth," she told herself, "This is fine. This is good. Everything's gonna be alright."

She ducked into the store and squinted. The lighting was harsh and somehow made the circles surely by then forming under her eyes feel heavy like bruises. The older couple stood peering at a row of fountain sodas, still and possibly confused by the amount of options. She glanced to her left, and the man behind the counter nodded at her.

"Evenin'," he said. He had a nose like a beak, irritated and pink skin that had been greeted by the sun one too many times over the years.

Beth gave a tight-lipped smile, polite but brief. The couple shuffled back toward the door, empty handed and confused. She thought about asking if they needed help, but for some reason felt more and more uncomfortable the longer she stood there.

Feeling weird and silly, she made a sharp right turn into the candy aisle. A broad shoulder clocked hers from the left, and she stumbled back hard, saying, "Oh, sorry," as if by automated response. She was only met with a sort of grunt and shuffle. The man, tall and filthy judging by the grease streaks she glimpsed running like hash marks down his bare arms, continued on past her without a word.

He threw something lightly onto the counter and mumbled, "Pack of Reds."

He looked down and slightly over his shoulder, seemingly aware of her wide-eyed and silent fuming from behind him where she stood still in the aisle. His visage was harsh, angular, with a sloping nose and damp hair that mostly covered his eyes. She couldn't believe he hadn't even had the decency to do the apology-dance—the one where they both mumbled 'sorry' and smiled and gestured in a way to show just how _not _put out they each were. And well, that was just plain bad manners in her book.

She made a noise like _tch!_ and muttered, "Asshole," before spinning on her heel and turning her attention, begrudgingly, to the vast selection of chocolate.

Just as she picked up a Kit-Kat bar and a bag of beef jerky, she heard the rattle of the door opening, and a low, gruff voice say, "You kiss your momma with that mouth, girl?" She looked up just in time to see his retreating form pass through the doorway and step casually out into the rain.

Beth placed her things on the counter, cheeks hot with embarrassment when she caught the clerk's amused expression—one he didn't attempt to hide as he snorted a laugh.

She glared down at her feet, then looked up sharply at him. "You got a bathroom?"

Still grinning, he slid a wooden block across the counter. A single key dangled from the end. He pointed outside toward the right of the building. "It's round back, on that side. Second door, but..."

Beth grabbed the keys and darted out the door, unable to make out anything else he said as she shook her head in annoyance. She'd been in this town for all of ten minutes, and she'd already visualized kicking the shins of the only two residents she'd even _seen_ something vicious. _God, but she couldn't __stand bad manners_.

She jabbed the key into the bathroom lock, and wriggled it left and right as it stuck slightly in either direction, huffing and growing more irritated by the second until it finally gave way and swung open. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing ugly and grey against her pale skin. She gazed into the mirror with a frown, pushed a few wisps of hair from her face, and turned on the faucet. Splashing the cool water on her skin, she wondered for the millionth time today just what in the hell she was doing.

She was eighteen, just another month shy of nineteen, and that meant she was an adult, right? She wasn't in high school anymore. Her days had abruptly and unceremoniously dropped off from a whole lot of 'have to' into a strange, unfamiliar territory filled with 'because I _want_ to.' She could spend time with Jimmy and her friends however, whenever. She could go to parties on weekends, or stay home in her sweats marathon-watching old episodes of _Mama's __Family_ or _Daria _if she felt like it. She could even get her own apartment if she wanted, pay her own bills,_ if she wanted_, or go on a godforsaken bus trip across the southern United States to Mexico if she wanted. So why didn't it feel like that? Why did she have to constantly question every single little decision she made for herself? And, most importantly, why did she always have to feel so horribly anxious, so horribly wrong, about doing anything remotely resembling fun?

A little bit tired of listening to herself, she stopped her thoughts with another cold splash to the face, and patted herself dry with a paper towel. Twisting the door knob, a small, cold fear began to spread from the base of her spine; the door knob did just that—it twisted continuously, spinning and spinning without catching the lock. She jiggled it and turned left, then right—nothing.

She backed up, exasperated. "What the...?" She patted her back pocket, hoping to find her cell phone, but remembered she'd only ran into the store with her wallet. She banged on the door, shouted, "Hey! Is anyone out there?! I'm stuck in here!" She kicked the wall, kicked the door, continued shouting, but it seemed no use, drowned out by the now pouring rain.

Oh, no, she thought. Was this it? Was she trapped here, inside the dirty bathroom of a Chevron in the middle of nowhere, Texas, forced to subsist on tiny rations of beef jerky and a Kit-Kat until she died of starvation? She banged on the door harder, louder. She shouted and waved her arms, as if it would somehow make her more noticeable even behind a closed door, and continued to kick pretty much anything in her immediate vicinity until her right foot throbbed. She started in with her left foot, futilely thumping and banging around for a solid five minutes until she was panting.

She lowered herself to the cold tile and put her head in her hands. _This_, she thought, _this_ was stupid. If she couldn't even open a bathroom door, how in the world was she supposed to convince anybody, least of all herself, that she was a capable adult? What did she even have in her world that was so adult, anyway? A car her daddy had bought her? A twenty year old boyfriend she'd been seeing for all of three months? Sure, she had a part time job at the bookshop, and an embarrassingly puny bank account, but…

"Credit cards!" she announced to herself, hopping up from the floor.

Surely that could actually work, she'd seen it in plenty of movies. Her only debit card gleamed; a last bastion of hope as she pulled it from her wallet, squinted her eyes at the space between the door frame and lock, and wedged it between the two. It took her a few tries, some hopelessly awkward fumbling, because really, Beth had no idea what in the hell she was doing, but the lock finally pushed back in place and she wrenched the door open.

She grabbed her plastic bag and the key from the floor, and ran out into the rain with a wide grin on her face, faith almost restored. She pushed into the store and practically threw the wooden block at the clerk, the key tumbling over the counter and plopping to the floor near his feet. His mouth hung slack as he stared at her blankly, then out the window, then back at her.

"You," she began, finger pointing at him in accusation, "should really consider getting that lock fixed."

She turned to rush out again, but he called out, "Uh, Miss...Miss!"

She looked back at him and raised her eyebrow. He was pointing outside, his face somewhere between amused and uneasy. "The bus," he stated.

"The bus?"

"Yeah," he swallowed. "Weren't you on that bus?"

"Yeah, I was on the..." Beth stopped short as she looked out into the small, dark parking lot, empty and shining like liquid under a lonely security lamp. "You've gotta be kidding me..."

* * *

**AN: **Just a bit of set-up. Bear with me, please. A lot of Bethyl interaction to come.


	2. Chapter 2

Beth's stomach sank as she imagined Jimmy—asleep, drooling against his own shoulder as the bus pulled away, no idea his girlfriend sat defeated behind a locked, grimy bathroom door, eventually waking up in Matamoros next to an empty seat, disoriented and probably panicked. She felt briefly irritated with the elderly couple that had _clearly_ seen her in the store, wondered why they hadn't said anything to the bus driver, but then felt bad for the thought as she remembered their blank expressions as they'd stared at the sodas. They probably didn't remember she even existed at this point.

She turned on the clerk, "Why didn't you tell them to stop?"

His head jerked back slightly before he cleared his throat, "Believe it or not, kid, I wasn't exactly payin' attention to your whereabouts…"

"But, your key? I had your key." She knew it wasn't fair to accuse him, personally, but the patience she may have once prided herself on had all but vanished the moment she set foot in this store.

"Pffft…" he pressed his lips together. "Think that's the only one I ever had to get made? People either leave it in there or take it all the damn time."

"Ok." She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself back from the verge of hysteria. "Ok, I'll just call Jimmy. You have a phone I could use? I mean, please?"

"Naw."

Beth blinked. "_Naw_?" she imitated.

"Nuh-uh. Ain't got one. Just had the payphone out there, but that ain't been workin' for awhile..."

"You...you don't have a phone? What do you…? Where am I?"

"I don't know what fancy language they speak where _you _come from, but when I say I ain't got a phone, it means I ain't got a phone. If you need to make a call," he shifted his weight to his left, and flicked a hand toward the highway, "then your best bet is to flag someone down or see if they've got one over at Dale's."

"Dale's?"

The clerk narrowed his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Where you from?"

Confused and highly annoyed, Beth quirked an eyebrow. "Georgia. Why?"

"They only ask questions out in Georgia?"

Forfeiting the idea it would be at all useful to continue hanging around this Twilight Zone vortex of a dump she'd had the misfortune of being stranded in, Beth pushed the door open and called out, "Thanks for nothin'."

She was about ninety-five percent sure she heard the man say, "Much obliged," as the door rattled shut.

Leaving the cover of the gas station, she walked quickly through the rain to the edge of the highway and peered down it in either direction. It was desolate, void of motion or sound. The only lights for what could've been miles came from directly across the street. A long, wood-panelled building shone with neon signs, most in the shape of Texas with beer logos stretched across the state's expanse. "Well," she voiced to the dark, "guess that's lucky compared to the rest of my day."

As she crunched through the gravelled parking lot and ducked beneath the jutting edge of the building's tin roof, she noted there were more motorcycles lined up in front of the bar than there were cars or trucks. She wondered if it was wrong of her, maybe even judgmental, to suddenly feel more afraid and alone at the sight.

A cloud of smoke and noise covered her as she shied her way through the entrance, practically stumbling forward as her eyes tried to adjust. Shoulders tense and raised, she blinked at the room. Beth had never in her life been inside a bar, and if she had at any point prior to this occasion imagined what it might be like—she _had _imagined; herself in a dress holding a sophisticated, colorful glass, while her companion, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Don Draper, looked on with complete and utter admiration—could now safely say it came nowhere even close to the reality of what she currently saw.

She had no idea grown men actually wore leather vests, or that despite how ridiculous such a wardrobe choice might seem in theory, turned out to be a pretty intimidating sight when faced with it in person and in such large numbers. People were laughing, booming and hoarse, as something shrill played from the jukebox.

A group of men near one of the pool tables stared at her for a moment, a couple of them laughing in low tones. She glanced around nervously as she continued to walk forward, arms crossed low at her waist. She had made it almost halfway to the bar when a thin woman with closely cropped grey hair waved her own cigarette smoke from Beth's path and asked, "Well, honey, are you lost?"

Beth's voice stuck for a moment, "I'm...I need to use a phone."

Her eyes narrowed in concern. "Are you okay? You're soaked through..."

"I was left here," she started, as the woman's eyes widened, "I mean, I was on a bus and we stopped just over there, the station across the street. It left without me."

The woman put her hand on Beth's shoulder, leading her toward the bar as she waved her arm and called out, "Dale! Dale, come here a sec!" She stooped a little to look at Beth, one hand still on her shoulder. "Ok, just...sit tight here for a minute, I'm gonna get you some help."

As Beth sat on the barstool she saw the woman place a hand flat against the chest of a very stout man as he approached. "Don't. Go on now, back where you came from."

He only flashed his teeth at her and put his hands up in surrender. Beth caught his eye for a moment and quickly looked down at her hands when he smiled. She had no idea how any of this was happening, and the back of her neck tingled and grew hot as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth, beginning to feel almost angry with herself for acting like such a scared little girl. Wanting to be brave, or at least appear so, she quickly raised her chin and stared down across the length of the bar.

It took her a few moments to register the face staring back at her; eyes that looked halfway to sleep already, calm yet suspicious. It was the man from the store; the one who'd nearly knocked her down. The same _terrible_ man who'd, if she _really_ thought about it, started this whole horrorshow chain of events in the first place. Without even thinking, eyes locked with his and fingers gripping the edge of the bar, she silently mouthed, "_Asshole._"

He froze, lips parted and beer suspended midway to his mouth. The grey-haired woman appeared in front of Beth again, disrupting her stare down. She pushed a phone into her hand.

"C'mon, you can make your calls in the back office." She lit another cigarette, threw the lighter on the bar top, and waved Beth on. Following her lead, she made her way through the crowd toward the back of the room and around the far side of the bar. She spared a glance over her shoulder, scanning for her newfound enemy, but he had disappeared.

As they turned into a small room lined with cardboard boxes and stacks of paper, the woman said, "Oh, Carol, by the way."

"Beth," she smiled, sinking down onto a worn, floral-patterned couch just to the right of the door. She felt exhausted and began to shiver under the steady stream of air conditioning blowing down from overhead. The sight of her must've been pathetic, because Carol grabbed a jacket from a hook on the wall and held it out to her. She pressed her lips together with a nod, genuinely thankful she'd _finally _met someone with some decent manners around here. She slid the jacket over her shoulders, and dialed Jimmy's number.

The call went straight to voicemail and Beth's chest tightened. She tried again, and then again, with the same results. Beth stomped her foot on the cracked linoleum. "Shit!"

"Sure gotta pottymouth on you..."

Beth's head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice. She narrowed her eyes. There he was, her enemy, leaning in an irritatingly casual manner against the door jamb.

He straightened himself and looked to Carol with a thrust of his chin. "Dale's askin' for you. Needs the storage keys."

Carol patted her jacket pocket and huffed in frustration. Just as he made to leave, she grabbed his arm, but pulled her hand away quickly as he flinched, eyes giving her a quick once-over.

"Sorry, just...could you stay here a minute? Two seconds! I'll be right back."

He crossed his arms, clearly offended. "Ain't no babysitter."

Carol leaned toward him. "_This isn't exactly the place for her to be, is it_?" It was a terse whisper, but Beth heard it anyhow.

He looked sideways toward the wall, as though he couldn't be bothered to give a full eyeroll, and let out a measured breath. "Two seconds."

He repositioned himself against the door as Carol headed down the hall. Beth kept her focus on the phone in her hands, trying not to let the complete hopelessness of the situation overwhelm her. Truthfully, she knew the phone was likely dead, the battery had been in the red for awhile by the time Jimmy stopped fiddling with it and fell asleep.

_Wait_, she thought. Beth punched in her own number and began bouncing her leg impatiently. "C'mon...answer, Jimmy. Pick up the phone." She called several times to no avail, aware of the curious glances the man kept throwing her from where he stood sentinel.

Giving up on the phone, she glared up at him. She said, "I'm not a baby," a little louder than she'd meant to; it seemed sort of weird, almost a non sequitur at this point.

The room became suddenly quiet as he stared back at her. He only made a noise, low, something like _hm_. He opened his mouth slightly like he might say something—something more than likely irritating as hell—but Carol came back into the room, shuffling in on a cloud of smoke and followed by a surprisingly pleasant looking older man with a white beard.

"Any luck?" she asked.

Beth shook her head, face impassive. The older man stepped forward then and extended his hand to her. "I'm Dale," he leaned back against his desk and continued, "So what exactly happened? Carol says you're stranded?"

Beth nodded. "I was on a bus from Atlanta. We stopped at that gas station across the street and I got locked in the bathroom...bus left without me."

She heard a snort come from just behind Carol and realized the man was still standing at the door, obviously entertained by her plight. Beth felt inclined to walk across the room and punch him square in the jaw if she thought it wouldn't break her hand to do it.

She cleared her throat, "My boyfriend was asleep when I got off. His phone's dead and can't seem to get him to answer mine. Could still be snoring for all I know. He's got no idea…"

"Where were you headed?" Dale asked.

"Matamoros by tonight. We were gonna take another bus out in the morning, head farther south. Some friends of Jimmy's—my boyfriend—they were supposed to meet up with us."

"The border's not far from here…" Carol said softly.

Dale bent his head in concern. "Is there anyone else you can call?"

Beth thought about her father and Maggie; the sheer mortification of being forced to call them, lost and scared somewhere she wasn't supposed to be, all because she couldn't manage to open a door or keep track of the time. Instead she'd been busy lamenting the state of her life—problems as small as they were—launching herself into some existential crisis over _nothing_, just like she was doing now. And what could they do anyway? Feel sorry for her? Figure out how to get her to the nearest plane? Bring her back home where they could keep her safe from her own poor judgment?

"No. There's no one. I just need to find a way to get there and meet up with Jimmy. That's all. Is there a cab or a, you know, like a car service I can call?"

The man by the door spoke up again, "Where you think this is? New York?"

"Why don't you take her, Daryl?" Carol's statement made everyone pause.

He raised both eyebrows and shook his head. "Huh? Nah, I ain't gettin' dragged into this…"

"It's only three hours from here, four at the most. Why not?" Carol seemed matter-of-fact.

Daryl stared at her plainly. "Been drinkin'."

Carol tilted her head with a look that seemed almost bored, as though they'd been through similar back and forths before.

He shrugged. "May not be three sheets to the wind yet, but I have. Besides, bike's out of commission." When she raised a brow in response, he explained, "Merle took it."

"So?" she shrugged. "You can just go in the morning."

"Go _in what_, woman? You know just as well as I do he's as likely to come home tomorrow as he is in a year or two. Why the hell don't _you_ take her, if it's so important?"

"You _know_ why. Think Ed would even—"

Dale cut off their bickering, "You can take the Winnie. I can bring it over first thing in the morning."

Daryl looked over sharply to Dale; gaped at him as though he'd just grown a second head. "_Hell_ no."

"Daryl, _what else_ have you got to do?" Dale said loudly, bending over at the hips.

Daryl pushed himself from the door jamb, shoulders squared and head bobbing. "Thangs! Plenty of 'em. And you know how much gas it'd cost to get that piece of shit all the way to—"

"I'll pay for it!" Beth had had enough of listening to these three. Her head hurt, her foot throbbed something awful, she was about to freeze near to death in this tiny refrigerator of a room, and all she wanted was a hot shower and a solid plan already.

They all stared at her. She cleared her throat. "And your time, of course. I'll pay you."

His nostrils flared slightly as he looked her up and down, sarcasm heavy with the movement. "You independently wealthy or something?"

"I've got a savings," she said with a lift of her chin.

He continued looking at her in the same manner, almost grinning when he repeated, "You've got a savings."

_God, she wanted to smack him._ But she wanted to get out of this place even more.

"Listen, I don't exactly relish the thought of being stuck with you for four hours of my life either, but I don't see I've got many options. Now I'm offering to pay you for your precious time, and the sooner I get to Mexico, the sooner you can go back to doing your _thangs_."

He chewed on his thumb and snorted out a breath, much like a bull; her little mock hadn't been lost on him. He assessed her for a moment, eyes moving quickly and curiously.

"How much?"

"Three hundred, plus gas," she tried. It was the first amount that came to mind.

He put a thumb under his chin and crooked his index finger over his mouth in consideration. He made that noise again, that _hm_, and before he could open his mouth or chance to speak, Beth panicked.

"Ok, _five_ hundred!" She blurted out.

He quirked an eyebrow and muttered, "Might wanna refrain from bargainin' for the rest of your stay..."

"What?"

"Nothin'. Three hundred's fine." He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned, "Lord, help me."

Dale sighed and clapped his hands together. "Alright, that's settled. I'll drop it off about eight o'clock. Got some cleaning to do over here in the morning anyway."

"Wait," Daryl spun back around and faced Beth. "Where am I supposed to pick you up at?"

Beth looked from Carol to Dale. Somehow, in her exhaustion and frustration, she'd not even considered the immediately pressing matter of where she'd stay for the night.

Carol looked from Beth to Daryl with that same bored expression again. She sighed, "Well, obviously…"

"You bein' serious?" Daryl put his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor.

"What?" Beth asked, looking between the two.

He glanced up at her and chewed the edge of his thumb for a brief moment before shaking his head and turning back toward the hallway. "Well, come on then, Daddy Warbucks. I'll show you to your palace."

* * *

**AN: **Whew. Heavy on the dialogue, I realize. My apologies, but I've got to get these two moving. Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews, especially those of you reviewing as guests, as I don't have a way to respond. Hope you've enjoyed so far :)


	3. Chapter 3

She peered out through the darkness and rain across the field; a shabby barbed wire fence, leaning and bent in a few places, glinted beneath a white light that hung down from the branch of an oak tree. Just beyond the fence, about a football field's length away from the bar, she could make out the shape of what appeared to be a sheet metal building. Daryl was already walking across the field, headed in the direction of it. Holding her plastic bag to her chest, she ducked out into the rain once again, arms crossed and trying to bite down the chill.

The way he walked made her frown; his shoulders swayed too much and he seemed unnervingly tall and sure about it. He glanced back at her once and then twice, before pausing to take off his jacket. He held it out toward her, still focused on the expanse of land in front of him. As she reached his side he shot her an impatient sideways glance and thrust the jacket at her shoulder. Beth grabbed it, confused about whether or not she should be thankful; he couldn't even make a gesture of decency without appearing pissed off he'd done it. Her eyes followed him, silent as he continued forward. She raised the jacket over her head and grimaced at his back, almost comically, she thought, because apparently she couldn't feel grateful without being simultaneously angry, either.

As they stepped over a low, bent portion of the fence, she wondered briefly why she wasn't at least a little afraid—thought that maybe her anger, funneled purely into annoyance and frustration with one particular stranger, was merely a way to keep from being really pissed off with herself for getting into this situation. Maybe she wasn't being all that fair. It wasn't anyone else's fault she was stuck here, and it certainly wasn't anyone else's responsibility to get her to where she needed to be.

Daryl spoke suddenly, "Atlanta, huh?"

She peeked out from under the collar of his leather jacket. His look was thoughtful, concentrated, as though lost in a memory. "S'not where I'm from if that's what you mean."

Beth could now see the building clearly. It was indeed made of sheet metal, the left half of which gaped open crudely. Random, large pieces of machinery and what she assumed to be car parts were strewn around the cavernous space. The right side of the building sloped upward in the shape of something similar to a barn, obviously the living quarters, fronted by a small, makeshift porch.

As they approached the front steps, Daryl asked, "Where, then?"

"Outside the city...Linden County. We've got a farm."

On the porch now, he searched his front pockets for a moment and mumbled, "Who's 'we'?"

Realizing her mistake, and that she didn't want to tell this man anything about her family, or really talk about her family at all, period, she ignored the question and gazed back across the field toward the bar. The rain had slowed, softer but steady. She looked over to him cautiously, aware he was still waiting for a response. He considered her for a moment; the corner of his mouth twitched just barely.

"Alright," he said, accepting her silence.

As Daryl unlocked the door, she leaned back against the house, smirked and said, "Conveniently located."

He scoffed, "Convenient to _what_?"

She looked over at him and shrugged her shoulder. "Gettin' drunk."

The small smile that had begun to form on her lips died by increments as she noticed the shift in his expression. He flexed his jaw minutely, eyes tight at the corners and nostrils flared again. Beth was struck by how unnaturally _still_ he could be. He pushed the door open and stepped inside without a word. The expected uneasiness she hadn't been able to find earlier now settled over her in a dull throb—she was about to enter a strange space with an even stranger person—making it impossible for her to hide the way she began to curl in on herself, head down and eyes glancing around nervously.

Maybe she had expected a mess, clutter at the very least, but the absolute _bareness_ of the room unsettled her in a very different way. There was a couch to her left, small coffee table in the center, and a lone barstool next to a short countertop at the back of the area. There was a stove range, sink, and dirty, yellowed refrigerator stuck at the left end against the wall, but nothing else—not a book, magazine, dish, rug, nor single frame or photo on the walls. It felt sad, _temporary_, as if its inhabitant might be in a constant state of either leaving forever or only just arriving.

She realized it was very possible he felt just as uncomfortable when he grunted and seemed to have trouble facing her, instead opting to look at the wall above the couch as he said, "Bathroom's down that hall at the end. My bedroom's on the right." He cleared his throat loudly and rushed, "You can take the bed, I'll sleep out here."

She felt bad suddenly; ungrateful, even. "I'll take the couch. That's fine, thank you."

"Naw," he rubbed the scruff at his chin. "On the off-chance Merle does come home, I'd rather you weren't the first thing he sees." He looked over to her now, face indifferent. "Never know what kinda state he's liable to show up in."

"Should I be scared?" She hoped she sounded light, though his tone had made her worried.

He looked her up and down again, quick and curious the way he had back at the bar with his shoulders squared and tense. "Be whatever you wanna be," he said, throwing a dingy pillow to one end of the couch. "Don't make a difference to me."

She stood in the center of the room awkwardly, his heavy jacket still draped across her shoulders. He had flopped down onto the couch and rested the back of his arm across his forehead, eyes closed. Just when she thought they might have a relatively normal exchange he'd made it a point to let her know just how disinterested he really was. The leather shifted noisily as she moved her feet toward the hallway, then stopped and looked back at the couch.

"I, um. Do you have something I could wear?" He cracked one eye, instantly meeting hers. She looked down at herself, hands pulling the wet material of her shirt away from where it clung to her stomach. "Kinda need to let these clothes dry out."

He threw his feet back to the floor with an annoyed sigh. "Good lord."

"Oh, just forget it," she said, heading toward the bedroom, frustrated beyond belief all over again and mad at herself for even asking. She should've just helped herself, he probably wouldn't have noticed anyway. Just as she made to turn into the bedroom she heard his heavy footsteps behind her. He brushed past her and straight to a large oak dresser. After a moment of banging the drawers around much louder than Beth felt necessary, he stomped back to her and shoved a wad of cotton into her hands.

She gazed up at him in near disbelief. "_How old are you?"_

"_Why_?"

He had mistaken it for a genuine question, rather than a comment on his childish behavior. She almost wanted to laugh. She shook her head fractionally, and sighed, "Thanks for the clothes."

He jerked his head to the side, eyes narrowed. "Anything else I can get for you? Cup 'a cocoa? Bedtime story?"

She smiled, genuinely amused at this point. "No, thank you."

He seemed bewildered, unsure how to react to her lack of retort. His eyes still narrowed he looked her up and down in one quick glance. "Well alright, then," he grunted, exiting the bedroom as Beth rolled her eyes at the back of his shaking head.

She hadn't made the mistake of asking for permission to use the shower. She simply _did_, because what had all her manners and politeness done for her today, anyway? Not a _damn_ thing, as far as she was concerned, and she certainly wasn't about to keep wasting them on the likes of Daryl and all his stupid grunting and _hm_-ing. He was doing a nice thing for her, wasn't he? Money aside, he was still helping out a perfect stranger, even giving her a place to sleep, but for some reason he seemed hell-bent on making it damned near impossible for her to be thankful for it. She was a nice girl! She _tried_ to be a nice girl, tried to be frank and good-natured in all her interactions, no matter how grating the other party may be. But _this_ one—he just took the cake. And it was really, _really_ pissing her off.

In an impulsive move, she threw the bar of soap, hard, at the tiled shower wall with a crack. It ricocheted back toward her, smacking her shoulder as she reflexively tried to dodge its warpath, shower curtain rattling on it's flimsy rings as she grabbed it for balance, nearly falling over the edge of the tub as the bar slipped to the floor and shot across the room into the door with a thump. She stood frozen and hunched over with her arms still up in defense, eyes wide in shock.

"Best not be breakin' nothin' in there!" She heard Daryl call from the couch.

She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was _mature_, cool-headed, patient—completely and totally patient. Another deep breath, and she relaxed under the spray of hot water, letting it cascade around her for several motionless minutes. Beth counted inhales and exhales until she became calm enough to really feel the exhaustion in her muscles, straight down to her bones.

As she stepped out of the shower, patting herself dry with a ratty towel, she eyed a lone, blue toothbrush perched in a square metal holder near the sink. She looked toward the door, and for a fleeting moment considered chucking his toothbrush into the toilet, just to be spiteful, but winced at her own ridiculousness just as quickly.

"Get a grip, Beth," she muttered, pulling on the tee and striped boxer shorts he'd given her.

Back in the bedroom, she fished the Kit-Kat bar out of her plastic bag and sat on the bed, chewing it almost grievously. She really wanted to try calling Jimmy again, but the absolute last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was asking Daryl for anything. She hoped Jimmy had found her phone by now, maybe even noticed the missed calls and dialed the number, Carol hopefully explaining the situation to him so he didn't panic or think the worst. It'd be ok, she thought. Tomorrow afternoon she'd get to the bus station and he'd be there waiting for her, and everything could continue on without a hitch. This was just a minor hiccup, a story she could tell later, wide cast of quirky characters included, and they would laugh and that's all it would be.

It was funny to her in some way that she wanted to get back to Jimmy so badly. Truthfully, she couldn't have imagined ever really thinking anything like that before. He had always been there by her side in some form or another—neighbor, classmate, childhood friend, prom date, something. He was kind in his own way, maybe ignorant at times, a _boy_, but never mean. Never anything but just there, and that consistency had been easy and even nice sometimes.

Beth shook her head, not wanting to head down that path tonight. She needed sleep. She stood up and pulled down the covers on the bed, glancing at the nightstand. There was an open pocket knife on it, resting against a white square. Beth recognized the glossy texture of the paper; it was a photograph lying face down. She settled into the bed and reached for it, pausing to glance around the room, feeling a little guilty for meddling with someone else's things. It was the first personal affect aside from the toothbrush that she had even seen in this house, and she couldn't help her overwhelming curiosity.

She snatched it from the nightstand and flipped it over, held it up in front of her. In the photo sat two very fair-haired, blue-eyed boys, one a bit scrawnier than the other. They were both wearing brightly colored t-shirts with toy guns held in either hand as they leaned into the side of a very thin woman. Her face was solemn, smile very slight, but there was something attractive about her, almost charismatic.

Beth heard the abrupt scrape of something being dragged across the wooden floor. She jerked out of her reverie, feeling caught and ashamed, and quickly placed the picture back, face down on the nightstand. _God, she was really silly._ Just as she shimmied her way back down under the covers, sighing into the warmth and surprising comfort of Daryl's bed, it occured to her that she'd left her wet clothes on the bathroom floor. Groaning, she slipped out of bed and opened the door quietly, not wanting to chance running into Daryl again only to have him say something rude or childish. And, well, she'd also rather not face him while still feeling slightly guilty for looking at his things while he was kind enough to let her sleep in his room.

Just as she was about to take a right down the hall for the bathroom, she noticed a shadow move past her to the left. It was Daryl, his back to her as he stood between the living and kitchen area in front of an open window. She could hear that the rain had stopped. He had moved the coffee table and barstool in front of it, and as he leaned to the side to adjust something, she realized he had laid her clothes out neatly: her jeans draped over the barstool; shirt, socks, and, lord help her, her bra, flat on the coffee table. He had set them out to dry. As she watched him smooth her jeans free of wrinkles, she felt a terrible little guilt rise in the pit of her stomach. She moved back into the room silently, and closed the door as gently as possible. _God, but she was stupid._

The moment she hit the bed, she rolled into a deep and dreamless sleep. She woke to sunlight pouring into the room from behind her, dizzying and obnoxious, granting her no short-lived reprieve from the situation, but rather making it glaringly obvious from the moment she opened her eyes, that yes, everything had gone to shit and she was _not _in Mexico with Jimmy and her friends.

Groaning and turning on her side, pulling the covers back over her head, she tried to give herself a moment to mentally prepare for the next four, very long hours. There was a lot of shuffling around and banging coming from the next room, a few grunts here and there. Just as she was ready to throw back the covers and greet the day anew, determined with everything in her power to remain positive and even-tempered, two loud smacks sounded on the bedroom door.

"Rise and shine, Georgia!" he called, "Dale's brought the Rolls around."

* * *

**AN: **Felt important to give some insight into these two before moving forward. I enjoyed writing it, in any case. And to the dear Guest reviewers: Thank you, you're wonderful.


	4. Chapter 4

'The Winnie', as Beth should have already surmised, turned out to be a relic of an RV—steel and hulking and rattling. She stood on the porch next to Dale looking out at it in the bright sunlight as Daryl climbed into the thing and made his way to the driver's seat. She briefly wondered if he even had any idea how to drive something that big, but figured he was probably one of those men who was always capable behind the wheel of something.

Dale sighed loudly, breaking the silence. "He give you a hard time?"

She quirked her lips and shook her head. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Her response earned a grin from Dale. "I see."

"I don't know if I did such a good job last night..." she began, squinting at him beneath her raised hand, "...expressing that I'm grateful. To you and to Carol, helping me sort this out. I was a little on edge."

She smiled at him sheepishly, but he only clasped her shoulder briefly and said, "Oh, can't blame you for that. It's nothing, doesn't put me out at all." He turned his attention toward Daryl again, who was currently attempting and failing to crank the engine. After a few tries he began to smack his hands on the steering wheel, causing Dale to laugh. "May wanna thank him, though."

Beth looked down at her feet as the image of Daryl standing calm and purposeful in front of the window while smoothing out her jeans replayed itself. "Yeah," she nodded. "Yeah, I should."

Dale considered her a moment. "I know he barks a lot. Man's got no filter, and I've wanted to smack him upside the head a few times myself…" He looked back out at Daryl and smiled softly. "But he means well, anyway."

As Dale stepped down from the porch, calling out a very complicated-sounding set of directions on how to get the RV moving, Beth stretched her legs in her stiff jeans and took a deep breath. She knew Dale was right. If Daryl were really all that awful he wouldn't have agreed to help her no matter the sum, and he certainly wouldn't have been so accommodating as to let her use his bed. She didn't know anything about him, and while she had felt justified in snapping back at him—she _was_ justified—that didn't mean she had to continue being as hot-headed as he was just to prove a point. No, she thought, she'd be pleasant today and she'd thank him and she'd let whatever he chose to say roll off her shoulder if she had to. It was only four hours, anyway.

She called goodbye to Dale and stepped up into the RV, making her way toward the passenger seat at the front. Daryl glanced at her and she made sure to give him a blinding smile as she buckled her seatbelt. His eyes widened slightly in that same way that made her think he really wanted to roll them, but couldn't commit to it.

"Good to see one of us is feelin' refreshed this mornin'," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Beth frowned, thinking of him out on the couch, still fully dressed and tossing around while she slept comfortably in the next room. That same guilt she'd encountered at spying him from the doorway began to creep slowly up from her chest.

"Thank you," she said seriously. "I mean it. Thanks for all this. Know it's not any fun for you."

He cut his eyes to the side, sweeping his gaze up and down. "Sure ain't."

She gave him a remorseful smile, to which he continued to scowl, but Beth could tell he was pleased she had acknowledged his suffering on account of her. As he backed up and headed down the long dirt drive that ran parallel to the field they had walked across the night before, she heard him grumble, "You're welcome," as though it pained him to say it.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward—they'd started out on much better footing today, she thought. Settling back into her chair, she felt calm, even optimistic, for the first time since she'd left Georgia.

Just half an hour into their silent drive the sky began to darken in a rush, clouds billowing in from the west at a worrisome rate. Beth kept moving from the windshield to the passenger window, twisting her neck to get a better view as the rain began to patter down in a drizzle that seemed anticlimactic in comparison to the heavy sky.

"Does it usually rain so much here?" she asked. When Daryl didn't answer, she sighed against the glass. "Maybe it's just me. Like Eeyore or something...just have a rain cloud following me around."

She peeked over toward him, sure he'd agree with that assessment at the very least. She was pleased to see he grinned a bit before giving her that same up and down once-over again.

"I dunno, some months more 'an others. More storms, seems like, this time of year."

"I always thought Texas was one big desert, ya know? Didn't expect so much...green."

Daryl made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a laugh. Beth turned toward him and noticed the small smirk on his face as he muttered, "Used to think that, too."

When he noticed Beth's expression, he clarified, "Ain't from here."

"Oh."

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, lips pulling into a thin line. She registered that this was the first bit of personal information he'd given her, and it seemed maybe he'd just had the same realization. Just as she decided to pry a little, ask him where he was from, he reached over and punched the radio on, turning it up loudly and scanning until he found something that suited him. Suitable, it turned out, was anything _but _in Beth's opinion. The noise was utterly grating, and even a bit cheesy to her.

"What is this?"

He looked at her in a manner Beth would probably refer to as 'snotty' and curled his lip. "Pfff."

She scrunched her nose. "What?"

"It's good, that's what it is."

"Good?"

"Yeah. _Good._"

"S'not so good to me…" she muttered under her breath.

He bobbed his head, "Keep talking that mess about Motorhead, see if it don't get ya put out on your ass on the side of the road in a minute."

"Pfff," she mimicked him. "Motorhead…" Beth didn't really know anything about Motorhead except that Daryl was probably exactly the type of person she imagined _did_ know things about Motorhead.

His only response was to turn it up louder. She supposed that was ok; he didn't seem to want to talk anymore, and all she seemed to know how to do recently was ask an incessant string of questions that felt tiring even to herself. When she stopped to think about it, her curiosity about Daryl was a bit weird. She'd never met anyone like him before, not really, so maybe it was a sort of novelty. She was curious about most people in general, though she'd usually only taken on the role of observer in the past, but something about Daryl's surliness—his more or less hardened disposition—made him seem all the more alien and fascinating, even if she didn't like to admit it.

After a little over an hour of trying to fall asleep in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs, even trying to cover her ears a few times as she leaned her head against the window, she finally gave up with a drawn out sigh. She turned in her seat, aware Daryl had been watching her. He looked perfectly relaxed in his seat, now looking out straight ahead with an amused grin on his face. He actually seemed _happy _that she couldn't get comfortable.

"Something funny?" she asked.

"What? Can't hear you," he fake shouted, cranking the music a touch louder.

She reached over and turned off the radio. His eyes went wide, like she was out of her mind.

"I can't handle it anymore, I'm sorry." She managed to say it quite patiently, apologetically, but it did no good. He punched it back on.

"Can we at least compromise on a station or somethin'? Or better yet, no music. We could play a game?"

"Ha! You serious?"

She sighed, "_Please_ don't make me listen to this anymore."

His expression was bored. "You're real melodramatic, you know that?"

"And you're really antagonistic." She slumped back into her seat. Beth realized she was doing exactly what she had told herself not to do, but dammit he made it hard not to talk back.

After another couple of punishing songs, Beth had resigned herself to her musical fate, staring forward with a purposefully impassive expression plastered to her face, forehead pressed against her palm as she leaned her elbow on the passenger side window. She was aware Daryl had thrown a few irritated glances her way, but she was determined to ignore his presence. Suddenly the music stopped. She looked over cautiously; his jaw was tight, flexing as his chin wavered.

"Only game I like's The Quiet Game." He gave her a pointed look as if to challenge her.

Beth shrugged with a smirk. "S'fine with me."

"Fine," he grunted.

"Fine," she repeated.

Her slow grin spread into a full blown smile that she tucked into the crook of her elbow as he managed to get the last word in. "Fine."

The rain pelted down on the metal roof, soothing in some way as they drove on in silence. She had just started to drift off, comfortable and warm, when Daryl shouted, "Those are classics!"

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly to view him.

"All these little shitheads now don't know a damn thing about music! All that bubblegum _bull_shit, everything's roses and ponies with you kids! And _love_ this, and _love_ that, makes me sick to my stomach..."

Beth blinked at him and _hm_ed in a terribly similar way to his usual response.

He huffed, "What?"

She shook her head. "You're terrible at this game."

He opened his mouth then snapped it shut again. At that exact moment, her stomach growled low and loud. She shifted in her seat as if that would somehow cover the awful noise that had clearly already reverberated throughout the tin can RV.

"_Jesus_, girl…" He looked at her with wide eyes, obviously happy to have the focus back on her. "Take it you're hungry?"

"It's ok," she shrugged, embarrassed.

Daryl snorted, leaning forward in his seat, and looked to either side of the highway. "Should probably stop and get gas soon, anyway."

* * *

The sandwich shop was nestled in the back corner of the gas station, a later addition to the crumbling structure that served as the storefront; its interior was quite different, but no less old. Beth secretly loved this—was hopelessly intrigued by the despairing, forgotten landscapes and buildings of small town America. Her aesthetic sensibilities, to the casual observer, would probably seem focused on quaint, cutesy things bordering on kitsch, but in reality expanded beyond the confines of adorable to include older, darker, inexplicably more _interesting_ things. She had grown up on a farm in the midst of other farms owned by hardworking families, gone to school with the sons and daughters of a quiet, unremarkable town, and had not once felt at a disadvantage for it, unlike Maggie who'd hightailed it to the city the moment she graduated.

She smiled thoughtfully for a moment, thinking of an abandoned house in the center of her hometown's more-or-less historic district where she and a few friends had spent hours playing one summer, much to their parents' disapproval when one of the girls—probably Lucy, because it was _always_ Lucy—finally squealed about their hideout to her mama, crying over some imagined grievance perpetrated against her by the others. The sandwich shop reminded her of that house somehow—dim, a bit dusty, yet impossibly warm.

Her lips lost their curve as she realized Daryl was standing at the counter watching her, motionless, with that preternatural _stillness _that made her fingertips buzz and spine straighten. A lady approached the counter from a back room, finally turning his attention away from Beth. He ordered a plain turkey on rye, then glanced over his shoulder at her, prompting her to say she'd have the same. Beth stepped forward, even with Daryl, and began to pull a twenty from her wallet. He pushed her hand away without looking at her, and shoved his own twenty across the counter.

"I thought…"

He gave her that bored look again.

She nodded and bit her lip. "Thanks…"

"S'just sandwiches," he shrugged.

They stood awkwardly for a moment, waiting for their food.

Beth shifted on her feet. "Would you mind if...could I borrow your phone?" She figured now was as good a time as any to ask, considering he seemed to be in a less perturbed mood than earlier. "Wanna try calling Jimmy again."

He slid a small, dated flip phone out of his pocket and held it out to her.

She smiled and turned toward one of the booths, pointing. "Thanks, I'm just gonna sit…" She almost winced as she heard the words leave her mouth; she had no idea why, but she felt incredibly weird about the exchange, not to mention plain stupid for stating the obvious.

He didn't seem fazed, merely nodded and turned back toward the counter.

She slid into the worn vinyl booth and smiled in surprise when she flipped the phone open; there was a grainy photo of a large black and grey dog, mixed breed of some sort, set as his background. She couldn't imagine him taking the time to do something like set a wallpaper for his prepaid phone, but there was the dog, tongue hanging out of his mouth and all, and suddenly, begrudgingly, Beth found Daryl a bit endearing. She caught herself tempted to look over her shoulder at him, but shook her head.

Dialing Jimmy's number, she held her breath and waited for the ring. Straight to voicemail. She frowned, her chest tightening—she'd felt certain he'd charge his phone once he arrived in Mexico to find she wasn't there. She tried her own number—immediately to voicemail. Holding out the phone like some kind of weird moon rock, she stared down at it completely perplexed. Daryl slid in across from her, pushing the brown tray that held their sandwiches toward her. He began unwrapping his until he noticed her non-movement and apparent disinterest in her food.

He leaned his head down a little until he was eye level with her. "He ain't answering?"

She looked up, brow furrowed. "No...both our phones are off now."

Daryl's eyebrows raised, and he looked genuinely concerned for a moment before he cracked a lazy grin. "You sure he was asleep?"

Beth narrowed her eyes. "Wha—" she began, until realization dawned and she understood the implication. "Oh har-har."

He barked out a laugh, a real and surprising laugh that jolted her for a moment. He shrugged, holding up his sandwich. "If you was half as much a pain in the ass with him as you've been in all twelve hours I've known you…" He shoved a bite into his mouth and continued grinning, genuinely pleased with himself.

"Just sayin'..." he mumbled around a mouthful of bread and turkey.

She scrunched her nose, mildly disgusted by his table manners. "Yeah, well Jimmy ain't you, that's for sure." Daryl's shoulders shook with silent laughter as she crossed her arms and continued a little louder, "And don't talk with your mouth full! It's impolite."

He stopped mid-chew, all trace of a grin disappeared, and thunked his sandwich down onto his plate. He wiped a napkin roughly across his mouth and muttered under his breath, "Impolite…" He dropped the balled up napkin beside the sandwich and scoffed, " 'M I having tea with the Queen a' England right now?"

She couldn't help but laugh at the truly offended expression on his face. He was really sort of funny. "No...I don't suppose you are."

He took a loud slurp of his soda, staring right at her for several seconds as he continued sucking through the straw until it loudly attested to its emptiness. He slapped it on the table and dramatically wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm.

"Mmmhm…" he teased, "...I bet ol' Jimmy was wiiiiiiiiiiide awake."

She rolled her eyes at him, but continued smiling; somehow he'd managed to make her predicament seem briefly funny, and that was definitely preferable to the panic she was trying hard to keep at bay.

They finished their sandwiches in silence, casually glancing toward one another every now and then with some sort of mutual mix of curiosity and amusement. When Daryl stood with the remnants of their meals on the tray and walked toward the door where he slid its contents into the trash bin, Beth watched him with a soft expression. He held the door open with his hip and gestured with a wave for her to follow him.

Outside at the gas pump, she handed him her debit card and nodded back toward the store.

"I'll be right back."

He took the card from her hand and narrowed his eyes. "Bathroom?"

She frowned, "Yeah…"

As she walked away, wondering why on earth he'd bothered asking that, he called out, "Might wanna practice openin' and closin' the door first!"

She stopped walking for a second and choked down a laugh. Shaking her head, back still to him, she raised her middle finger in the air and continued on. _Still a jerk, _she thought.

When she returned to the RV, she opened the door and froze on the steps; the image of Daryl sitting in his captain's chair, window slid open, cigarette in his mouth and black, tough-guy sunglasses perched on his nose suddenly became absurdly funny to Beth. Manning a tank, or riding a motorcycle? Sure. She could see it. But surrounded by fake wood paneling, shag carpets, and the muted neutrals and mustard yellow of 1970, added to the fact he'd just been blaring Motorhead for the last hour? She couldn't contain the dumb little giggle that burst out of her throat.

Cigarette still hanging from the corner of his mouth, he spun fully round and glared at her. Lord help her, the chair even swiveled. "What?" he barked.

She covered her mouth, mumbling, "Nothing." Another laugh escaped. "You just look so..."

His face cracked a bit, and she noticed he was biting the inside of his cheek trying to hold down his own smile. He looked down at himself then around the RV.

"Pretty goddamn ridiculous, huh?" he said, straight-faced.

Her shoulders shook with laughter, "You really do!"

He wiped a hand over his mouth and chewed his thumb before swiveling back to his original position. He shook his head as she finally situated herself into the passenger's seat, willing her giggling fit to stop. After a few tries and seemingly random turning of knobs and switches, Daryl finally got the thing cranked and pulled back out onto the highway.

They both cut their eyes toward each other at the same time, and Daryl cleared his throat. He tapped the radio and pointed at her. "You choose."

She grinned broadly at him and seized the dial. After a bit of scanning she settled on a classic rock station, much more mellow and singing friendly than his earlier pick. He didn't seem to mind it, and maybe even looked a little surprised as she began to hum softly along from her seat. They continued on in what was more or less companionable silence, Daryl occasionally grunting in disapproval when she ventured into singing actual words, but she didn't pay him much attention. He really was sort of funny, she thought again.

Sometime after noon, Daryl pointed into the distance. "There's your destination, Princess."

The edge of Matamoros sprawled like a jagged set of string lights—the colorful Christmas variety—shooting a dotted line across an expanse of slight swells of green earth punctuated by squat trees. The sky dipped between hills in blue and yellow cream, draping a cottoned blanket across the dusty rows of crops, though Beth wasn't sure of what.

She leaned forward in her seat, wondering at the incongruence of the sight with what she had imagined.

"Nothin's ever what I expect," she said quietly, looking toward Daryl.

He only stared at her for a moment, _hm_ed as they inched toward the border.

* * *

**AN: **Hmmm. Where's Jimmy? I hope the pace of this isn't insufferable-I may or may not like to take my time drawing out their interactions.

Inexcusably late with this update, but I'm all caught up on personal things and the next few chapters are already in the works so updates should be more frequent from here on out. I didn't get a chance to respond to a few reviews last update, so if you get an extremely delayed response from me over the next few days, terribly sorry. Thanks, as always, for reading, and feel free to click the link on my profile so we can chat over at tumblr.


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